


Smol Bean Christmas Special

by TheSaddleman



Series: Smol Bean [4]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Christmas, Dressing up as Santa, F/M, Fluff, HMS Titanic, Humour, No Angst, Romance, Santa Claus - Freeform, Time Travel, just fluff, whouffaldi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:07:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21788011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSaddleman/pseuds/TheSaddleman
Summary: Clara's friend, Nina, needs someone to play Santa Claus at her childcare centre's Christmas party. Guess Who is recruited?
Relationships: Twelfth Doctor & Clara Oswin Oswald, Twelfth Doctor/Clara Oswin Oswald
Series: Smol Bean [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/643298
Comments: 8
Kudos: 31





	Smol Bean Christmas Special

**Author's Note:**

> This bit of fluff is my first entry in the Smol Bean series in more than 2 1/2 years. It can totally be read as a standalone, but there are a couple of references that make more sense if you've read the other ones.
> 
> Time frame is sometime after the events of "Last Christmas."

“Clara, I don’t know why I let you talk me into these things. Have you been taking hypnotism lessons behind my back? I’d say you’re a natural. Must be the eyes.”

The Doctor glared into the full-length mirror in front of him. From the neck up, the visage that stared back was far from the angular-faced, distinguished grey-haired Time Lord that usually occupied the reflective space. Instead, a snowy white beard covered most of his face and hung down a good foot from the bottom of his chin. His grey hair was hidden under an equally polar bear-coloured curly wig, and a large red hat sat atop his head (well, actually, it was attached to the wig).

The only parts of his face left unaltered were his intense eyes and his imposing eyebrows. And his Scottish-accented voice that sounded far less jolly than required for Santa Claus. He could have sworn the hum of the TARDIS console room jittered for a moment, almost as if she was having a laugh at his expense. Who was he kidding; of course she was.

Clara Oswald, herself dressed in a red and green outfit that—the costume shop promised—made her look like an elf, admired her handiwork in applying the fake beard and wig to her companion’s face (leaving the eyebrows as-is was her idea) and tickled one of the Doctor’s exposed earlobes. 

“Come on, Doctor. It’ll be fun. And you’re my best friend, so of course it’s easy for me to talk you into things like this. It’s part of the job description and you can consider it payback for that week of mosquito bites while we were stuck in that Viking village. And it’s just a few kids from the childcare where Nina and Ernie’s daughter goes. It’s not like we’re doing the department-store Santa routine.”

The Doctor’s glare softened a bit as he turned to her. Nina was one of Clara’s oldest friends and her husband, Ernie, was one of the millions of cloaked Zygons living in secret in the UK. They’d recently adopted a young girl who’d been orphaned during the short-lived Zygon uprising, and this was going to be their first Christmas as a family.

“Nina owes us so many favours, one of these days I might just leave saving the world to her for a couple of days and take a holiday,” he chuckled.

Clara gave him a hug. “OK, Father Christmas, time to get into the pajam…uh…the Santa suit.”

The Doctor looked affronted. “Unlike your costume-shop special, these are the real deal, I’ll have you know. Borrowed from the old guy himself,” he said as he put the suit on over top of his star-patterned jumper and grey trousers.

“You don’t need to keep all those clothes on underneath, you know. You’ll boil,” Clara pointed out.

“Oh, trust me, this is one time that layering is essential. Call up the North Pole on Google Maps and point out the nearest dry cleaners, why don’t you?”

Clara grimaced and had a flashback to an earlier Nina favour that had her wearing a polar bear costume on a sweltering hot day in central London. Not that she’d envied the Doctor playing Santa to begin with, but she was twice less envious now as she recalled how the bear suit stank of smoke and scotch, neither of which she contributed to its bouquet (though she could have used a stiff drink afterwards). So she changed the subject.

“So, when you went to borrow the suit from Santa, did you ask him about … you know?”

“Santa denied helping us out during the dream crabs thing,” the Doctor said. “But I’ve learned never to expect straight answers from him—the man has the best poker face in the galaxy. It didn’t help that one of his hench-elfs muttered ‘elfist’ when I mentioned your name, though. Better not let them see you in that outfit, by the way, they'd probably have at you for perpetuating stereotypes. And no, I did _not_ give Father Christmas a kiss on the cheek from you. He had to make do with a firm handshake.”

Clara helped the Doctor shoulder on the heavy red coat. “Well, whether he was actually there or recreated by the crabs, it was because of him we got back together.” She stopped and looked intently at the Doctor. “I… we owe him a lot.”

The Doctor nodded his agreement and squeezed Clara’s hand. Which felt oddly unsatisfying through the thick mitts he’d put on.

“I still think I’m too skinny to play Santa,” the Doctor grumped as he looked at his completely be-Santa’d form in the mirror.

“I don’t know,” Clara said. “I think you’re filling it out nicely.”

The Doctor frowned. “That’s just a trick of the light,” he said, quietly.

“I think you look cute! Anyway, one Santa belly kit coming right up.” She jogged up to the mezzanine level of the console room and returned a few moments later with a small throw pillow retrieved from the Doctor’s reading chair. He stuffed it into the suit, and it gave him the traditional shape associated with Santa Claus. He nodded with satisfaction.

“OK, now let’s hear it,” Clara said as she leaned against the console, her arms folded, expectedly.

“Hear what?” 

“You know. You’re Santa. You have to say, you know, the thing.”

“Thing?”

“What does Santa say, Doctor?”

“‘Full house. That’s another fifty you owe me, Doctor. Now pay up before I set Donner and Blitzen on you.’”

“I’m serious, Doctor.”

“So am I. Donner and Blitzen are bloody frightening. So what is Santa Claus supposed to say, Clara?”

His companion sighed and mimed throwing her head back, crinkling her eyes and letting out a silent bellylaugh as she held her arms across her middle.

“Ah,” the Doctor said, the penny dropping. “‘Don’t eat too many sweets, kids, you’ll get a tummyache.’”

Clara’s silent bellylaugh turned into an exasperated “ _Argh!_ ”

“Alright, please yourself...” The Doctor set his shoulders, took a deep breath and… “HO!”

The single utterance echoed around the chamber. He looked at the young woman, expectedly.

“That’s it?” Clara monotoned, her eyebrows raised.

“Not forceful enough? I didn’t want to come off too sinister-”

“Doctor, Santa goes Ho, ho, ho. _Three_ hos. Not one, not two, _three_ hos!”

“I’m respecting today’s youth, Clara. They’re so busy with their social media and their multitasking. I know how little free time 21st-century children have, so I was being efficient in my use of words.”

Clara rolled her eyes. “First, it just sounds like you’ve stubbed your toe. Second, these kids are in childcare and aren’t expected to join Twitter for at least another six months. Third, being efficient isn’t in your DNA. If you give the kids just one Ho, they’ll feel shortchanged. It’s like ‘shave and a haircut’ with no ‘two bits.’ Or the Monty Python theme without the fart at the end. Some things are just … necessary. Try again.”

Sighing, the Doctor took on the same posture as before and let out a hearty, “Ho, ho, ho!”

Clara beamed. “See, that wasn’t so hard.” She looked over at the console. “So, how much time do we have?”

“Are you trying to be funny?” the Doctor scowled.

“I mean, how much time before the party?”

“Clara, we’re in the Vortex. The party could be next year as far as we’re concerned. I could take you to the very first Christmas and still arrive at Little Daleks Childcare or whatever the place is called with plenty of time to see the building constructed and the manager attend childcare herself.”

Clara folded her arms. “I thought you didn’t want to take me to Bethlehem. Something about you having been a bunch of times already and you’d run out of places to hide with a good view of the manger.”

The Doctor shrugged. “Not my fault it’s a popular choice. There are about five destinations that every companion asks to go see. The assassination of JFK, for example. _Everyone_ wants to see the assassination of JFK. Sounds morbid, but, as an idea, do you know how boring that is? The novelty of who really did it wore off for me long ago, anyway. When I was leather-jacket me, not long after Captain Grumpy copped his whack, I went there once just to try and count how many other mes and friends were in the crowd.”

“Hey, we were there too, back when you had the fez fetish. That thing with the Shroud, remember?” Clara protested.

“Yeah, but we didn’t set out to see it happen, we just got involved in the bit that came after. No, you tended to come up with ideas like seeing Elvis’ opening night in Las Vegas—but his first go in 1956, not 1969. Or witnessing the Detroit Android Revolution of 2038. And it was your idea to bring along that curry takeaway when we dropped in on Percy, Mary, Lord Byron and that Polidori fellow at Lake Geneva in 1816, the one that gave them all nightmares when they went to bed. Not that we got any rest ourselves, being busy stopping that incursion from the Land of Fiction, right? But even _you_ wanted to visit the _Titanic_.”

Clara shuddered at the mention. 

“Sorry,” the Doctor said, with genuine regret. “Forgot that one was … an awkward experience for you.”

“That’s OK. How were you to know one of my echoes was a member of the service staff? And it was another time where there were multiple yous around, too.”

“Well, I’m glad Annie survived. Especially after I remembered that you, I mean she, gave me—I mean another me, the little Scottish guy with the hat—the Heimlich after he, I, started choking on a cookie at the buffet. Sixty years before the Heimlich Manoeuvre was even a thing, yet.”

“That first-aid course I had to take when I became the Maitlands’ nanny really came in handy, huh?”

“At least we learned that some of your modern-day knowledge rubbed off on your echoes. Or lack thereof, ‘Soufflé Girl.’”

Clara started to laugh. “If I can learn how to fly a TARDIS, I can learn how to make a damn soufflé properly. I’ll show you, if it takes me a hundred years! Anyway, let’s get moving. We may literally have all the time in the world, but that background rumble you hear isn’t the TARDIS surfing the vortex: it’s my stomach yearning for the lunch Nina promised us for doing this!”  


The TARDIS uttered its customary _thump_ signifying arrival.

“Better check to make sure we’re in the right place. If this is the mid-Cretaceous Period again, you might be a little overdressed,” Clara said.

“You’ll never let me live that one down, will you,” the Doctor replied as he checked the scanner. “Right place, one floor upstairs from the childcare place. Right time, about five minutes before we’re due. You know, I’m getting better at this.”

“Keep practicing and you’ll almost be as good as me,” Clara said with a wink. “Ready to face the thundering hordes? All six of them?”

“I’ve survived Daleks, Cybermen _and_ Derren Brown. I can handle a half-dozen five-year-olds.”

“We’ll see.” Clara held out her hand and the Doctor took it with a grin that even the fake beard couldn’t totally obscure.

Just as they reached the threshold, Clara stopped dead in her tracks. She looked up. 

“Uh, oh! Who left that there?” she said, perhaps with a smidgen too much drama to be convincing to anyone but the Doctor.

“Uh, oh, what? Left what where?”

“I need you to flip up that beard for a moment.”

The Doctor complied, revealing most of his face.

“Now, kiss me.”

The beard dropped down again. “I beg your pardon.”

“Rules. You have to kiss me.”

“What rules? I need to kiss you to exit my TARDIS? Did I miss a Companion Union memo or something?”

“Nope. It’s a rule because of that.” She pointed upwards to where a small plant hung above the door. “Mistletoe.” She flipped the fake beard back up.

“I wonder who put that there,” the Doctor said.

“No idea,” Clara whispered back.

“You do remember the bit about never telling me the rules, right Clara?”

Clara got closer and took hold of his lapel with her free hand, pulling him gently towards her. “Some rules are made to be followed, Doctor.” They locked eyes.

“For a human, sometimes your logic is flawless,” he said as the distance closed between them. “Merry Christmas, Clara Oswald.”

“Merry Christmas, Doctor.”

**Author's Note:**

> This story was prompted by me hearing a shopping mall Santa walking past the shops going "Ho, ho, ho!" but for some reason the acoustics were weird and all I heard at first was one loud single, "HO!" I thought the guy had hurt himself!
> 
> The Viking village refers to the events of "The Girl Who Died."
> 
> Clara was infamously labelled an "elfist" by a pair of Santa's "assistants" in "Last Christmas."
> 
> Although never depicted on TV, the Doctor has visited the site of Christ's birth in a few expanded-universe stories.
> 
> The Ninth Doctor was shown to be present at the JFK assassination in 2005's "Rose." The 1990s Third Doctor novel, "Who Killed Kennedy," postulates that the Doctor may have in some way been connected to the event. The Eleventh Doctor and Clara arrived in Dallas soon after the event in the novel, "Shroud of Sorrow."
> 
> The Detroit Android Revolution refers to events in the excellent 2018 video game/interactive movie, Detroit: Become Human.
> 
> The events at Lake Geneva in 1816 are believed to have given rise to Mary Shelley (who in the Big Finish audio dramas is a companion of the Eighth Doctor at one point) writing Frankenstein and John Polidori writing The Vampyr, which later inspired Bram Stoker to write Dracula. The Land of Fiction was first introduced in the Troughton-era story, "The Mind Robber."
> 
> Jenna Coleman played Titanic crewmember Annie Desmond in the Titanic miniseries of 2012. In an earlier story, I suggested that Annie was one of Clara's echoes, and I return to that here. A number of stories over the years have suggested that the Doctor was aboard or near the ill-fated ship, including a reference to the Ninth Doctor, once again in "Rose."


End file.
